Sothing shifts in Pip's eyes. The wildness retreats like a tide going out, leaving behind the little girl I know.
Her features shrink back to normal, pointed ears rounding, claws retracting, even her teeth shortening until they're just tiny baby teeth again. Her heaving chest slows until soft, hitching whimpers.
Tears drip.
"It's okay," I whisper, reaching out again. "Pip, honey, it's . It's Violet."
This ti, she doesn't snap. She doesn't even hesitate.
Her little arms shoot out and wrap around my neck with desperate strength. She buries her face against my collarbone and sobs—not the tantrum cries of a toddler, but sothing deeper and horrible. The kind of crying you do when you're so full of fear you can't even understand what you're feeling.
I hold her tight, rocking back and forth without even thinking about it. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you, baby."
Fenris stands over us like a living shadow, his blue glow pulsing faintly through his midnight fur, but much lighter now. His storm-gray eyes track every movent in the room as Pip's sobs gradually soften to hiccups.
Finn closes the front door, shutting us out from the roar of rain and wind and thunder. My ears pop when he does.
Only when the toddler is quiet does Fenris sit. But his ears keep swiveling.
The other three children stand together, and my heart hurts to see the blood all over two of them.
"Has this ever happened before?" My voice sounds strange in my own ears. Too calm for the trembling in my chest. I vaguely recall my mom sounding like this sotis, usually when I was worried about sothing. Now, I get it.
This is how moms sound when they're trying to pretend they aren't scared, too.
Maddox's face is pale beneath his olive complexion, his eyes a little too wide. Blood sars his chest and arms in thin, drying lines. But he's calm as he says, "No. Nothing like this. Not for any of us."
"But sothing similar?" I adjust Pip in my arms, feeling her tiny fingers clutch at my shirt as she snuffles against my neck.
"Sotis we slip a little during a shift. But nothing like this. Might run after a bunny without thinking or go for a run, but…"
Lily shudders and leans into his side, and Maddox wraps his arm around her without even looking. His big hand pats at her head. "My skin feels weird and crawly," she mutters. "Like the lightning's gotten under it."
"Mine, too," Finn pipes up, still holding his hand to his cheek. He winces as he talks.
"How's your face?" I ask softly.
He shrugs. "Still stings. It'll heal, though."
I move toward him, carefully shifting Pip to my grip so I have an arm free. "Let see."
He hesitates before dropping his hand. I reach out and gently pull his chin up to examine the claw marks. They're already closing—supernaturally fast healing, as expected. Still, they must hurt.
Lily darts to the sink and returns with a damp towel. I reach for it, but Maddox intercepts, taking it from her with a quiet, "I got it. You take care of Pip."
I'm not sure what I would have ever done without Maddox here. Everything from basic childcare to even the ergent situation of just monts ago, he's stepped forward and taken over without being asked.
He kneels in front of Finn, gently dabbing the cuts with careful hands.
Finn winces, then straightens his spine. "It doesn't hurt as much as it did," he says again, sounding proud. "I didn't cry, neither."
"Good," the older boy says quietly. "It's already healing."
I look at the blood staining Maddox's chest, the deeper cuts along his forearm where Pip had bitten him. "You're hurt worse than any of us."
He shakes his head. "It'll be fine. Don't worry about it."
"We should have you checked out."
His head moves more vigorously this ti. "No. We can't go to hospitals."
The matter-of-factness in his voice catches off guard. "Why not?"
"They're not safe for people like us," he says simply.
My arm tightens around Pip, who seems to have fallen asleep. Or maybe she's just quiet. It's hard to tell with her face buried against . "What do you do if you get sick?"
Finn's the one to answer this ti, piping up, "We don't. Not really. And we heal when we're hurt."
I don't press. But the ache in my chest grows, spreading outward until my ribs feel too tight.
Pip's body is heavy, and I try to shift her to my other arm—but she whines and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. Not asleep, then. At least, not yet.
"You should take her for a nap," Maddox says, wiping down his own wounds. Lily snatches the towel from him.
"I'll do it."
"'Kay."
Leaving them to their own devices seems strange and wrong after so much trauma, but Pip's clearly exhausted. I hesitate, but Finn scowls at and says, "Go!"
Fenris sneezes, and the kid jumps.
"I an… Pip's tired. You should put her to sleep."
"That sounds like you're telling her to—"
Maddox smacks his hand over Lily's mouth. "Hush."
"What? I'm just saying, it sounded like it. He should be more careful with his words."
"I am careful with my words!"
Their return to bickering sowhat lightens the heavy load pressing against my heart. "I'll be back once I get her to sleep, guys."
"Okay," Lily and Finn chorus, before sticking their tongues out at each other.
Maddox rolls his eyes and grabs the towel back from the distracted Lily and heads for the bathroom in the back.
Fenris follows as I carry Pip to Echo's bedroom. The wolf's nails click quietly against the floor, and it's strangely comforting. Good to know I'm not alone, even if I can't converse with him like I can with Asher.
Echo's bedroom is dim, the shades already pulled. There's a box fan by the bed, and I switch it on, trying to chase away so of the humid heat, though it really just pushes the sa warm air around in the room.
With the A/C off in here, it's going to remain warm.
Better not to use a blanket.
Crawling onto the bed with a determined baby clinging to my neck is harder than I expect, and I end up flopping onto my side. Pip grunts a little when her body hits the mattress and she curls up even tighter against , burying her face even closer. She sniffles.
I'm exhausted.
Not just tired, but my entire body feels heavy and my skin's too tight, like I'm retaining a hundred pounds of water.
I drop a kiss on Pip's soft curls. At least she's not crying anymore.
Fenris's presence is steady and soothing as he climbs onto the bed. Echo's probably going to kill him for leaving fur on her comforter, but we'll just clean it before she cos back, I guess.
The storm's voice becos a distant rumble, and I hope it's passing through. No more storms. No more strange, feral Pip shifts. I just want everything to go back to normal…
Even if I'm not sure what normal looks like.
Very little ti has passed, and yet so many things have changed.
My eyes drift closed, but the voices from the main room carry through the thin walls.
"Do you think she's gonna leave?" Lily whispers.
"Maybe." Finn's cocky attitude is gone. He sounds strangely subdued. "We're scary now. Wouldn't bla her for wanting to go."
"She won't," Maddox's voice is low and calm. I thought he was going to wash himself off, but I guess not. "She's not like that."
There's a pause, then Lily again: "But what if she does?"
Maddox doesn't answer.
I want to sit up, to yell down the hall: No. Never. I'm not going anywhere.
But I can't. I can't even open my mouth. Can't lift my head from the pillow.
Everything feels soft. Drained. Floaty.
Pip breathes against my neck. Fenris guards the door. The storm still howls outside. And I... drift.
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